A cave! the very word smacked of diabolism, and had the true flavor of genuine witchcraft. Our overjoyed hero thought of the Witch of Vesuvius in her mountain cavern—of her lank, grey, dead hair; her livid, corpse-like skin; her stony eye; her shrivelled, blue lips; her hollow voice, and her threatening arm, and skinny, menacing forefinger—of the red-eyed fox at her side, the crested serpent at her feet, the mystic lamp above her head, and the statue in the background, triple-headed with skulls of dog, and horse, and boar. Something of this kind he hoped to witness in the present instance, for he argued that any sorceress who lived in a cave must surely be supplied with some more cabalistic instruments with which to work her spells than greasy playing-cards or rusty brass door-keys. At last, then, he had discovered something in modern witchcraft worthy the ancient romance of the name. Triumphant and overjoyed, he prepared for the visit, confident in his ability to witness any spectacle, however terrible, without flinching, and in his courage to pass any ordeal, however fearful. He swallowed no countercharms or protective potions, and did not even take the precaution to sew a horse-shoe in the seat of his pantaloons. It is true he was rash, but much must be forgiven to youthful curiosity, especially when conjoined with professional ambition. The carelessness, in respect to his own safety, was productive of no ill effects, for he returned from this perilous excursion in every regard as good as he went. He had by this time entirely recovered from his matrimonial aspirations, and had given up all hope of a witch wife. Still, he hoped to find in the _cave_, something more worthy the ancient and honorable name of witchcraft than anything he had yet seen. Alas! for the uncertainty of mortal hopes. All is vanity, bosh, and botheration. On arriving at the enchanted spot, it soon became evident to the senses of our astonished friend that the “Cave” was not a cavern, fit for the habitation of a powerful sorceress, but was merely a mystifying cognomen applied to a drinking saloon with a billiard room attached, which had accommodations, also, for persons who wished to participate in other profane games. On entering the “Cave,” your deluded customer saw no toothless hag with the expected witch-like surroundings, but observed only a company of men, seemingly respectable, indulging in plentiful potations of beer and certain other liquids, which appeared, at the distance from which he observed them, to be the popular compounds designated in the vulgar tongue as “whiskey toddies.” Addressing the nearest bystander, the gulled Individual ascertained the habitation of Mrs. Grommer, and immediately departed in search of that interesting female. The way was crooked, as all Williamsburgh ways are, but after an irregular, curvilinear journey of half an hour, the anxious inquirer stood in front of the looked-for mansion.